Aftermath
by CassieKnight
Summary: Alexa Woods returns home and tries to carry one with her life. Eight months later, she discovers a visit from someone much too familiar. (Poor Summary) Please R&R. Complete
1. 1

_Aftermath_

**Author's Note:** I have to admit I never thought I'd write a fanfic based on AvP. This story is based on Lex's life after the pyramid, starting with a reflection then the present. It was basically written during the hour breaks I had between classes during the week and few times at home when I was bored to death. I know it's not my best work, but even so, tell me what you think. Only constructive criticism allowed thanks.

And just one more quick thing, I had written this down in my school notebook (something I usually don't do—its usually directly onto the computer), so after typing it out, I didn't go through it again to check for pathetic mistakes….I'm lazy, I know. Forgive me.

**1.**

It hasn't been the same. I don't think it ever will be. I know too much; I've seen too much. What happened can't be forgotten. I wish I could throw the memory away like it was a horrible book. I wish it had been something I remembered reading in a book.

Returning home should have brought me comfort. I should have been happy the moment my plane landed at Logan Airport—but I felt like I left everyone behind. As I rode a taxi back to my apartment, I had this terrible feeling that I didn't deserve to be in clean clothes, a warm environment, food and shelter waiting for me….I keep wondering why I was the only one lucky enough to deserve the right to live.

Luck; that's all it was. My whole life I've been living in luck's embrace. I've climbed hundreds of mountains and survived them all, even though some days I returned with an injury or two. It wasn't unnatural. I thought that's why I was chosen to go to Antarctica—because I was lucky, not to mention an "expert" in my field.

But if I was truly lucky, I wouldn't have failed. No one would've died. I wouldn't be thinking like this now. I wouldn't have spent a week and a half in a hospital as my wounds healed.

Upon returning, I did nothing but sit around my apartment for three whole days. Why was I there? I had nothing to go back to. Graeme Miller, the chemical engineer from Scotland, had his family he loved more than anything. He died. Sebastian had his dream of a great archeological find; he found it but couldn't enjoy it. He was lost too. Even Charles Weyland had something; he had a chance to see what the world would do when he returned to tell everyone he made history. Granted he was dying from a lung disease anyway, but he could've had more time.

I, on the other hand, had nothing. I had a sister, but we're not very close. She's the exact opposite of me—she hates being in anything but warmth and hates climbing. My parents were both dead. I really didn't have any friends, unless you call a few of the people you work with friends. I didn't have a boyfriend. I had nothing. And I was the only one to survive.

After a few days passed and my sore body was, for the most part, back to normal, I attempted to continue on with life. Thankfully I hadn't made any appointments that I had to keep, so my time was free. I just wanted to keep to myself a while longer.

Shopping seemed like a logical way to get back out into civilization and keep my mind occupied. Then again, I was one of those girls that had to be in the mood to hit stores for my own pleasure. And I certainly wasn't close to being in one.

The movies were the next best choice. I don't really like going alone, but I did. Although it's hard to constantly go; eventually I had seen everything that was playing, with the exception of a new action/adventure flick I had no desire to see for obvious reasons.

Spending time doing things for myself was great I guess. I don't really remember the last time I did so. But I went home to suffer in the mass of mental images. My cat was of little comfort. She would sit on my lap and keep me company, but nothing more. I tried to tell myself it was a dream—aliens didn't exist. But my newly acquired scar on my cheek and interesting retractable spear wouldn't let me forget.

It had been very much real.

The spear was given to me by who seemed to be the top dog of the alien hunters. I think he knew exactly what happened; either that or he realized that I had the same "blood" mark as his kind made when they killed what they hunted. Sebastian had explained to me that ancient hunters marked themselves with the blood of their prey. We saw one of these…predators…doing this after he killed one of the other strange, reptile-like aliens.

I don't know what got to me more: aliens that were slimy, vicious, and looked like they jumped out of the dinosaur age, aliens that acted as predators, built like humans to a point except a terribly ugly face with a crab-like mouth, or seeing everyone I went down to the pyramid with die. Being the only survivor doesn't sound like it should get to me the way it has been.

But it has.

Though I should be thankful Scar existed. I ended up naming the predator we saw mark himself "Scar" for obvious reasons. If it wasn't for him, I would've died when I found the dead ended tunnel. I used his spear to kill an attacking alien after he was knocked down. He blasted away the swarm coming towards us, set the bomb in that nest, kept me moving and wouldn't let me fall behind, and saved me from that big-assed queen alien when she survived the explosion, (which I'm still puzzled as to how since the entire whaling station collapsed into the grotto). I owed him my life.

Technically we were even—I saved him a few times too. I blasted the hell out of an alien that jumped him and stuck its tail through his shoulder. But I couldn't save him in the end. The queen stuck her tail through his chest—and that was it. When she finally fell into the icy water the way we planned by tying her chain to the separator tank as it tumbled down, Scar was thrown to the ground. I was at his side when he struggled for air…he looked at me with those sandy-colored eyes when he died.

Granted, we probably wouldn't have been allies if I didn't give him back his weapon, which everyone else considered a great piece of history and use it to make everyone filthy rich. But he didn't kill me even after he got it back. I think he might've found some respect for me because I killed an alien, and then killed Sebastian when we found him plastered to a wall in terrible pain.

Sebastian asked me to do it—there was an alien spawn lodged inside his body. That was the hardest thing I ever had to do…and it's the biggest image I have stuck in my brain. I know he would've died a second later and that I spared him the pain of feeling that little worm break through his rib cage. But I can't pride myself in the braveness I showed to shoot him in the head.

Scar must have taken a liking to me, though. He didn't speak, just used hand motions to help me figure out what he meant. But after we escaped the explosion, he took of his mask. I think it was partly to show friendship, but also to test me to see if I'd be scared of his face. When I showed him no reaction and let him mark my face with the acid-blood from an alien finger he had kept, I saw a softness in his eyes. Somehow, at that one moment, I saw beyond his appearance. If anyone deserved to live, it was him.

AN: Trust me, it does get better…second chapter ;)


	2. 2

**Author's Note: **First….Thank you SO MUCH to all that have reviewed so far! Honestly, I've never had that many reviews for the first chapter—heck, I barely had a little more for an entire story I did some time ago! Hugs to all! Hehe.

This chapter is a little longer and a little more amusing than the first. I hope I don't disappoint—this story is really starting to grow on me now; I just like the way it's a little different than my normal fiction. I'm sure you'll be like "what?" when you read this part compared to my nicely depressing first chapter. More reviews welcome!

And just for a head's up, it might take me some time to get things posted because I am a college student and this week is so hectic with tests and papers - The only reason I was bad and got this up tonight was because you've all been so wonderful to praise me -)

Thank you!

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**2.**

Eight months have passed. My nightmares haven't really stopped, but the graphics aren't as bad as they had been originally. I still see Sebastian plastered against a stone wall in the pyramid, covered with disgusting slime. I still see his pained face and hear his warnings to not let them reach the surface. I can hear the gunshot even in my dreams. It haunts me. Part of me feels I didn't murder him and I was showing him mercy, releasing him of pain.

I tried hiding the spear the elder predator gave me, but I had learned one thing from those hunters—honor. So out it came and mounted on my wall. That was the last thing I did to try to forget. My life started to piece itself back together. I headed back out for my research and trained people to climb and so forth. I spent another month in Colorado and headed up the Rockies with some old friends of my dad's.

Everything slowed down—even the nightmares. Maybe all I needed to do was get back out there. Yet that's not all; a new guy that started working for us asked me out. Twice. His name is Steven. We've been seeing each other for about three weeks now. I guess I like him. He treats me well—spoils me is more like it.

Life seemed good. The Antarctica trip seemed in the distant past and I had nothing to worry about.

I spoke too soon.

I had just come home from a trip to Chile with a team of mountaineers and scientists. We had a four day trip in the Andes. I half expected to see Steven waiting for me on the front steps of my apartment building, but thank the heavens he wasn't.

As I made my way up the three flights of stairs, I had this odd feeling that I was being followed. I had turned around to see no one.

My heart jumped out of my chest, though, when I opened my door and started to go inside. Usually I swing the door closed when I pass it upon entering, but somehow it made a banging noise—like it hit something—and flew back open. My cat, Sophie, was sitting on the top of the couch; otherwise I would've thought it was her, although, the bang was too loud for hitting a small cat.

I ignored the incident when I figured it was my imagination and carried my suitcase to my bedroom. At first I was going to unpack right then and there, but it was late and I was much too tired. What I needed was a hot shower and something warm to drink.

I went back into the living room, which is open to the kitchen, to find Sophie on the floor, her fur standing on end, ears back, and teeth showing and hissing.

"What's gotten into you?" I asked as I moved into the kitchen. I heard something that sounded like a boot hitting my hard-wood floor in the living room. It was faint, but I still heard it. Sophie squealed violently and ran out of the room, tail between her legs.

Someone was in my apartment. I could feel it. The closest thing to me was a stainless steel candlestick. I picked it up and held it firmly in both hands. Slowly, I moved around the counter, my eyes scanning the rooms for any sign of movement.

"All right, I know you're there, asshole," I spat. "Come out now and face me."

At first I wondered what had gotten into me; there was no one there. Until my eyes focused to the side next to the door—the space seemed almost distorted. I watched as the distortion moved along. I heard a soft been and a shape began to materialize next to the couch right in front of me. My fingers tightened around the candlestick as I watched, wide-eyed, at a man, nearly eight feet tall, appearing in my living room.

My heart stopped. It wasn't a man—it was one of those alien hunters from the pyramid. Tall and extremely muscular, the hunter could easily take me down with one swing. I still remember the bone-breaking kick one delivered to me right after Max Stafford had been brutally murdered.

He wore the same metal plated armor I remember, along with a black mesh on his yellowish body, which could be seen where the metal didn't cover—thighs and abdomen sides. Although I couldn't see his face since it was covered with the metal mask, I could tell he was staring me down.

It took me a moment to find my voice, but finally I asked, "What do you want?" For a second I had this strange feeling he'd point to me and take me back to his people; after all, I did kill aliens and I'm sure everyone on that massive spaceship knew about it.

But there wasn't a reply to my question. He just continued to stare me down, his head cocked ever so slightly. I put the candlestick down, knowing that even if he did attack me, I'd have hope of defending myself. He had a dagger strapped to his right leg, a spear on his back, a shoulder gun strapped to his left shoulder blade, and several shuriken—the mechanized throwing disks—hanging from his belt. He was fully equipped; I didn't even own a steak knife as big as his dagger.

After another moment passed, he started looking around my living quarters. Slowly he walked around, examining the space with his eyes. I watched in silence. He reminded me of Scar—he had the same equipment and the same "T" like marking on his helmet. Then again, I noticed that the ones taking him back to the spaceship had the same aspects.

He turned back to me and made a soft yet scratchy noise with his throat. "Who are you? What are you doing here?" I asked again.

He came closer to me. I had to tilt my head back a hair so I could keep my eyes on his face. His head inclined more to the right, thick strands of rubbery-looking hair, dreadlocks, if you will, falling over his shoulder. I stood semi-calmly in place as he raised his clawed hand, black and yellow-skinned hand. My eyes averted to it as it came up to my face; he brushed his rough thumb over the "T" scar on my cheek.

My eyes narrowed at his outstretched arm, but then up to look at the dark, glass-covered eye holes in his mask. At first I wasn't sure what he was implying; but the soft, short purr he made told me exactly what he meant.

"You're…the same one from the pyramid?" I asked timidly, having trouble make my voice go any louder than the tone above a whisper.

He gave a short nod and took his hand away, but didn't step back. It really wasn't until now in a closed his space to realize just how tall he was—anywhere between seven to eight feet; more than your average basketball player.

"Impossible," I said unconvinced. "I saw you die! That alien put her tail right through you! Your people carried you away…"

I knew I was rambling, as if he understood everything I said. I figured from the silence and lack of movement that he hadn't the slightest clue what I told him. But apparently I was wrong.

He looked down at his chest and brought one of his strong hands up to pull away the armor that protected his stomach. There was an uneven burn mark the size of a softball directly in the center, right below his chest. He looked at me again, pointed to the burn mark with his other hand, and then pointed to his right shoulder, as if indicated that the same type of mark was there too. Scar had two alien spear-like alien tails go through him that day—this had to be him.

And here I'm talking about tails going through his body like it was an everyday occurrence.

Asking how he was still alive was pointless. He wouldn't answer me even if he wanted to—the language barrier killed it. This also made me unsure what to do with him here. He seemed to answer that for me when he turned around, the thick dreads of hair bouncing up and behind him.

I watched silently once again. He walked around the room, as if inspecting it to see if it met his approval of decent living space or something. He glanced at my new widescreen TV—I hoped he wasn't going to break it; it cost me an arm and a leg. You know, now that I think of it, I don't like that metaphor anymore.

But he ignored it a second later. The pendulum clock on the wall caught his attention. It was one of those cheesy cat wall clocks where the eyes and tail moved left to right on each tick. I wouldn't have it except it was a Christmas gift from my sister—what she was thinking I have no idea. Scar, on the other hand, seemed fascinated by it.

Scar; I kept thinking of him as that because of my observation of him marking himself. Naturally it wasn't his name. He probably couldn't say it if he wanted to. Yet it kinda bothered me that I didn't know his name—if he indeed had one. Who knew? Aliens that hunted things down for the mere fun factor probably just grunted to each other to get their attention. I guess after the story Sebastian told me, according to those hieroglyphics, made me think of Scar and his kind as cave men.

He turned back to me and made a clicking and purring noise again. I wish we spoke the same language. It really is annoying to the point you want to scream out in frustration. I think he might've felt the same way, though, when I finally and stupidly asked, "So why, exactly, did you come here?" Nice, Lex…lets ask him something where he can't really give out hand motions.

I need to stop doing that. He proved me wrong again. He held up his right hand, curled into a fist, and brought it up to the left side of his chest. He made on knock on his armor then pointed to me.

I stared for a moment, my heart getting caught in my throat. I had two thoughts from that gesture—either he wanted me for his own (shiver) or he wanted to thank me. I hoped the latter was the case. "You want to thank me?"

The alien brought up his left arm where a wrist computer was attached. He flipped it open and pressed several buttons. The last time I saw this he had activated a bomb. Needless to say I started to get nervous. Thank the heavens he gave me a pleasant surprise when he looked up. I heard something I never expected: "I-come-to-thank-you."

I was amazed. The voice was mine—I think—and a little scratchy, almost like one on an old time monster movie, only more feminine. The way it was broken up and the different tones of each word made me realize that I had said each word, and somehow his little computer recorded and played back my words after scrambling them to form the proper sentence. Brilliant! I wanted to burst into a giggle, but I double-though that; he'd probably think it rude, which it would've been. He was trying, after all.

Though I wondered why, exactly, he felt it necessary to come back to Earth and find me just to say thank-you. "I should be thanking _you_," I told him. "I never would've survived if you hadn't been there."

He didn't answer. Instead he turned his head and noticed the tri-spear mounted on my wall. He went over to it and brushed his hand over the handle, as if in complete awe over its magnificence. I'm guessing he was surprised to see it. "You're king gave it to me," I explained, but there was no reaction.

The phone ran, just then, scaring me half to death. Scar turned quickly with a fierce growl and pulled the dagger out of its holster on his leg. I quickly held up my hands. "It's okay! It's a phone!"

I hurried over into the kitchen area and picked up the cordless. "Hello?" My eyes stayed glued to my visitor as he put his knife away. The voice on the other end rung in my ear. "Steven?" I asked utterly shocked when he practically shouted a, "Hey!"

"How was your flight?" he asked me, filled with more enthusiasm than I wanted to feel at the moment.

"Good," I said honestly. Scar crossed the room to the kitchen table in the small dining area. "Steven, I really can't talk right now."

"Well, that hurts my feelings," he said, "since I'm downstairs."

"WHAT? You're….here!"

"On my way up!"

I panicked. Actually, panic is much too mild of a word to describe my heart rate rapidly increasing. "N-no! I can't have anyone here right now!"

"And why not? Are you cheating on me, sweetheart?" He asked in a joking manner.

"Of course not," I said in defense. Scar was leaning over the table to look at my crystal vase…my very delicate crystal vase. "Please, Steven? I was just about to take a shower."

SMASH!

I was on the verge of tears when I heard a shocked grunt and saw the alien backing up as if nothing happened. I wasn't sure which one I wanted to kill first—the alien or human.

"Will you really make me go all the way back down?" Steven asked.

I hung up quickly. "Scar," I said in haste, taking no realization that I said what I did. "You have to hide—now! Fast! My boyfriend's—"

The doorbell rang. Damn it. I turned back quickly and saw no one. "Lex?" Looking around to double check Scar was out of sight, I opened the door to have a bouquet of flowers shoved into my hands and a man no taller than me move forward and kiss me. I heard a very faint grumble. Actually, it was more like a huff of breath as Steven expressed himself towards me.

"Hi Lex," he said backing away. "Boy, I missed you."

"Really?" I asked as if I hadn't noticed. Steven was the type that loved to prove things—and that was his usual away of telling me he loved me before I could even say hi. "These are really pretty; thanks." I watched in worry as he moved further in.

"Just a little something," he said. "What happened here?"

"What?" I turned to see him glancing at the broken crystal. "Oh…Sophie. She's such a klutz," I lied as I noticed movement behind Steven. The furniture was disfigured as the hunter moved in front of it, his invisible camouflage detectable with his movements.

Steven took a step back and stumbled, hands flying out of coat pockets for balance. At the same time there was a growl. He must have backed up into Scar. "What the…?"

"So what have you been up to?" I asked quickly to draw his attention away, although I looked beyond him.

"The same old," he said. "Sat down at the office for the week. Did you hear a growl?"

"No…" Scar moved away and went over to the TV again. "It's my stomach, I mean. Planes don't serve food anymore, remember?"

"Well, let's go get something," he suggested. "It's only eight-thirty."

I shook my head quickly. "Tomorrow, maybe. I'm really tired. I just want to go to bed, okay?"

Steven pouted, but gave a nod. He looked across the room at the spear on the wall. "When are you going to get rid of that? It looks so primitive and barbaric."

"It is not!" I snapped. "Look, I'll talk to you tomorrow—dinner at seven? How's that?"

"Are you hiding something?" He asked suspiciously.

"No! I just want to take a shower and go to bed! Please?"

"Okay, okay!" He laughed and kissed me good-bye. "I'll see you. Bye."

"Bye!" I said in a fake friendly tone and shut the door behind him. I let out a big sigh of relief—I thought for sure something was going to happen. Why did Steven always have to be so persistent and playful?

I looked around the seemingly empty room. "Scar?" I called out softly. I heard my voice repeat it back to me as the predator's shape appeared out of nowhere. "Sorry," I said flopping down on a cozy chair. "I keep thinking of you as that because of…" I pointed to his forehead, then my cheek. He gave a grunt and continued the exploration of my apartment.

He inspected the stereo system against the far wall. God help me. I wanted to hide when I saw him raise a pointed finger and start to press buttons. Eventually he found the power button. Immediately the room was filled with extremely loud pop music. He roared and raised an arm to claw it down. I reached him just in time. Putting my hand on his side to stop him, my other hand turned the stereo off.

"It's just music," I explained.

Scar cocked his head to the right as if in curiosity. He either didn't understand "music" or he wasn't sure about what to do with my hand touching him. Though my fingers rested on the surprisingly warm metal armor, my palm had hit exposed skin under the even warmer mesh his body donned.

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AN: Yes, evilness beyond compare for my readers—but I realized now that I had never made a decent spot to cut this thing up into chapters…parts…sections…whatever. Sorry! To me, the middle of the story was just way to long for a one shot sit-and-read. I figured this was the best place; it makes this chapter long and still gives the next one enough length to be worth while. I'll have it up soon!

The third chapter will be my personal favorite ;) Alright…I'm done torturing you now.


	3. 3

**Author's Note: **-hugs all of her wonderful reviewers- I could just cuddle all of you! 30 reviews with just two chapters! That so beats the 22 I got for my finalized 8 chapter fic. THANK YOU-hugs tightly-

Anyway, forgive me for my terrible act of that cliffhanger. I truly didn't mean it, but sometimes things just happen. So here is the second part that I deprived you of earlier, and as a bonus, because you're all so wonderful, I finished it up and put up the fourth too. Thank you again!

A sequel is very possible—check out my note at the end of chapter 4. This one is the way it is mostly because first, I ran out of ideas for the apartment thing and I didn't want to have it everywhere in creation, and second there's only so much you can do to torture poor Lex. She did go through so much in the movie ;) Any who, many of you mentioned that chapter 2 was better for different reasons. 1 was basically the setting and stuff—I like to fill in the "absent" readers as I call them in case they weren't HUGE on the movie and forgot some stuff. That and it was basically just one person talking; no interaction. It's not my favorite type of opening, but it fit its purpose.

Oh dear, forgive me! I've rambled long enough here….go read!

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**3.**

I looked at my hand that touched him. I didn't mean for it to; it just happened. "Sorry," I said once again and pulled my hand away. He purred as I walked away and back into the kitchen.

As I opened the refrigerator door, I glanced over my shoulder to see what he was getting into now. To my surprise, he continued to watch me.

"Are you hungry?" I asked being the good hostess I am. Last time I didn't offer someone something they decided to help themselves to my cupboards—and he was the boyfriend of my friend…and we had just met. Nice, huh?

Anyway, Scar remained quiet and stayed as still as a statue. It was kind of unnerving how stone-like he looked. I couldn't even tell if he was breathing under all that armor.

I pulled out a plate of leftover pizza and held it up, pointed to him, and then at the food to see if I could make him understand I was telling him he could have it if he wanted. He seemed to comprehend, thankfully. I vaguely had an image in my head of jumping up and down trying to make him know what I was getting at—not a pleasant sight, I might add.

I unwrapped the clingy plastic and handed him a slice after he made his way over. I had taken one of my own and took a bit as soon as I could just to show that it was for eating. He watched with what I figured was amusement and contemplation. It suddenly dawned on me that I had no idea if his kind ate food like this—I highly doubted they had pizza.

But he must have been curious enough about the food. Seconds later he placed it on the counter and brought a hand up to pull out the two, thing tubes attached to the side of his mask. The release of air hissed out as they dropped to his shoulder. Both of his clawed hands went up to pull the metal mask off his face. I watched, forgetting to chew the food in my mouth, as if I hadn't seen him do this before.

Unlike last time he took his mask off in front of me, he didn't lash out a yell to see if I'd jump back in fear. His attention was solely on the pizza, which replaced the mask in his hand. His closely placed sandy eyes looked it over as the four small, crab-like appendages moved away from the sharp-toothed mouth that opened enough to push the pizza tip through. I watched in fascination as the mandibles took hold of the food and helped hold it as the teeth chopped down, tearing it clean. The dismantled piece disappeared into his mouth and was chewed from the back of his mouth where he must have more teeth.

I got the distinct feeling he didn't find pizza appetizing when he tossed the remainder across the room. I tried not to laugh as I opened the fridge door to show him what I had. He looked into the cold, brightly-lit cabinet, a low clicking clamor rumbling in his throat. He reached in and pulled out a cellophane package of fresh steak. I watched in agony, so-to-speak, as he ripped apart the package. That steak cost me a good penny and was meant for the dinner I was going to make for Steven next week.

The Styrofoam and plastic was dropped to the floor, water and blood from the meat splashing onto the white tiles. Wonderful. Once again the four appendages around his mouth took hold of the meat as one hand held it up. He tore it apart, piece by piece, swallowing down the raw meat as if it was chocolate cake. I suddenly lost my appetite as he pushed the last piece, gulped, and purred to me.

"Glad you liked it," I said sarcastically putting my slice of pizza down. He didn't seem to care about something to wash it down with as he walked to the corner of the room where there were six knives in a wooden holder. He pulled one out and shook his head as if disappointed in its size.

Obviously humored, he pulled out the blade strapped to his leg and held it up to me. "Nice," was all I could get out. A rumble came from deep in his thick throat—a laugh. He was laughing at my poor "high quality" chef's knife. What a jerk!

I glanced at the time and moaned. It was nearly nine and alien-boy still wasn't done checking things out. He had forgotten the knife and was not inspecting cabinets. If I ever saw that elder of his again, I'd tell him that he needs to teach his great hunters about a human household. I couldn't believe the fascination Scar had in every little detail. The can opener, for goodness sakes, was like a new toy he had been given by Santa!

This has to be a dream. I mean who wants a demonstration on a microwave? I was forced show him when I shrugged my shoulders and he gave a tempered growl. Note to self—predators are rude, selfish, and impatient.

The only thing I could think of was my cold pizza. I pressed it against the top of his hand to show him it was cold. Next I tossed it in the little oven, pressed fifteen seconds, and once the beeping stopped when it was finished, I took it back out and had him hold it.

It was really hard not to smile when his eyes widened, hairless brows moving about, and mouth opening in a "wow" format. I had to admit, it was a cute moment.

But I just wanted to take a shower and go to bed. Not only didn't I feel comfortable leaving him in alone in my apartment (would you?), but I was afraid of him being spooked by some other human commodity. Granted, he looked like a full grown…thing…but I had learned from Sebastian that this guy was basically the equivalent of a human teenager. Just what I wanted to do after climbing a mountain—baby-sit!

Next thing I knew, he was gone. I quickly headed to my bedroom, but found him inspecting the bathroom as I walked by. I stopped and watched him with the urge to laugh. Obviously predators don't have toilets. He had lifted the lid and pressed down the lever. The flushing sound and swirling water made an impression on him; now I know what to give him for Christmas if he ever came back. He made a croaking noise and gave that "wow" imitation again.

I laughed, catching his attention instantly. He didn't seem to enjoy being laughed at, though. He stood up very straight, his chest puffing out. With three steps he was directly in front of me. I heard a sharp rip of metal scraping metal. He brought up his right arm, twin, curved and very sharp blades protruding from the gauntlet on his wrist. I held my stance as he raised both blades to my neck, letting the side of one touch the side of my exposed flesh.

I glared up at him, silently daring him to go ahead. I knew he wouldn't. His brow furrowed, brown eyes soft and jaw twitching slightly but he didn't move his steady, muscular arm. What made me jump, practically out of my skin, was the sudden clank of the blades shrinking back into the wrist armor. He laughed once again in his own way and I frowned.

"Look," I said, having had enough of his sick humor. "I want to wash up. I'm tired and desperately need to rest. Don't break anything, okay?"

He didn't answer as he slowly walked back into the living room. I followed, having an idea that would _hopefully_ keep him out of trouble. I waved him over to the sofa as I picked up the TV remote. I held it up to him and pointed out the various buttons. "This turns it on and off," I said hitting the power button. He looked up, eyebrows rising. "You can change the station with these two." I demonstrated. "Got it?"

He took the remote from me and started pressing the buttons I showed him. With that done, I let out a heavy sigh as I hurriedly ran to my room, gathered clean clothes, and stumbled into the bathroom. Before jumping under the hot, running water, I popped in a couple of aspirin to hopefully help relieve the headache forming above my eyes. They usually made me sleepy, but I'd rather force myself to stay awake than feel the pulsating tension of my head.

I don't remember the last time I took a shower that quickly. Within minutes I was done and dressed in light-weight pajama pants, a tank top and my silky robe. At first I wasn't going to dry my hair, but a chill ran over me and I figured another two minutes wouldn't hurt.

Once my hair was semi-dry, I wrapped up the hair-dryer's cord and started for the living room. The TV was still on, and I can't say I agreed with what he had kept the station on; lets just say you can use your imagination of what guys favor the most on night-time television.

However, what I saw (beyond the television) absolutely astonished me. Scar was crouched down on the floor, flipping through the pages of a photo album I usually displayed on my bookshelf. He turned a page, studied each pictures as if amazed at humans' technology to capture images. Fancy weapons versus mankind's graphics; beat that.

Suddenly I knew a way that would amuse him more. I went to my room, grabbed my father's old Polaroid camera, and returned to where Scar was. He stood up at my appearance, as if embarrassed I caught him in a potential "weak" state. I held up the camera and pressed down the button. The flash scared him with its suddenness; his arm came up to shield his eyes as he let out a small, unpleased roar.

The photograph popped out from the bottom and the image started to appear. "Here," I said holding it out to him. He growled at me and snatched the picture from my hand. But his expression softened as he saw the image appear.

He looked back at me with that "kind" gaze of his. Call me insane, but his grotesque features didn't affect me anymore. I felt like I was looking into human eyes, forgetting completely that the surrounding face was as inhuman as it could get.

I put the camera down on the coffee table and stared up at him. I wanted to see what he felt like, as strange as it sounds. Actually, that sounds very bad—but I meant it in an innocent way.

Slowly my hand reached out and touched the portion of his abdomen that wasn't covered by the armor. I was surprised to feel that his skin was warm and smooth.

He made no sound or movement as he bowed his head to watch what I was doing. Part of my brain yelled out, "What the _hell_ are you doing?" Yet my curious half lashed back out and told my reasonable side to shut up. Damn my curiousness.

I took hold of his wrist and pulled his arm up. My fingers snaked their way into his hand, laying my palm flat against his; I wanted to see my hand against his own. His powerful hand was much larger than mine—almost twice the size. I heard a clicking vibration as he too compared the two different hands. My other hand reached up as high as it could to touch his face, but he was much too tall.

Scar noticed what I absentmindedly attempted to do and realized that there really was a major height difference. I was shocked and honestly frightened when both of his strong hands took hold of my waist and hoisted me clear off the ground. I wondered if I should try to fight him, wondered if I had given him the wrong idea. But the predator put my feet down on the sofa cushions; I was now eye to eye with him.

Without realizing it, both my hands had clutched his armor-clad shoulders when my feet had left the ground. We stared at each other for the longest time, eye to eye, both analyzing the other's traits. Unconsciously my hand moved to touch the side of his face. His skin was much rougher on his head. My fingers went up to his large forehead, then over to the bluish-black dreadlocks of hair. They felt mildly like rubber, but interesting all the same.

During this, I hardly noticed one of his hands firmly held my hip while the other patted my bushy hair. His thumb brushed over my scared cheek, a purr similar to a cat's filling my ears. My head leaned into his hand and my eyes closed.

Then, as if someone smacked the top of my head, I jumped back into the real world. He wasn't human—he wasn't even from Earth. What in God's name was I doing? What was I thinking? Lex, what's gotten into you?

I put my hands on his shoulders again, but when his didn't leave my face, my fingers wrapped around his hand and brought it away. His head titled, a small click rolling over his tongue—or whatever was in there.

I didn't need to say anything; I knew he understood. His firm grip held my waist again and he put me back on the area-rugged covered floor. I watched as he walked passed me and went into the kitchen to retrieve his mask. In the meantime, I picked up the photo album and camera, placing both in the empty space on the second shelf of the bookcase.

By the time I turned around, the mask had been replaced over his alien face. He looked at me through the mirrored eye pieces of the mask. I realized, then, that his kind wasn't all about hunting—not entirely that is. Predators lived for the hunt, but they did have an honorable side—and a caring one. At least Scar did. I smiled, but he didn't take notice. I was beginning to feel the effects of the aspirin and just how tired I was from my trip.

After a long moment of silence passed, Scar tipped his head down while his clawed hand yanked something from his belt. He let the small object dangle from the string-like wire that punctured through the wider end. His arm outstretched, his other hand pointed to the blue object and then motioned to me.

"I don't understand," I said. He walked over to me arm still out at full length. His free hand once again pointed to what I now recognized as a long, tooth with a chip at the tip, full encrusted with a hard, translucent, blue substance. It looked almost like a sapphire hanging on a silver string. The back of his index finger ran across the "T" shaped symbol etched into my skin. "Mine?" He gave one quick and short nod that I barely caught. I took the gift from him and examined the smooth surface of the oblong charm. I didn't remember seeing him pull it from the alien I killed, but I didn't argue. It didn't really matter.

He made a soft contented noise. I looked at him with a tired smile and nodded my thank-you. I was a bit puzzled as he bent forward and put his arms around my legs and back. I gasped softly as he lifted me off my feet again, cradling my body in his thick, strong arms. I wondered what he was doing as he started to walk through the apartment. He entered my darkened bedroom, and I wondered again if he had gotten the wrong impression as he put me down on my bed, pushing down on my shoulder to make my head rest against the pillows.

"Rest," he said in my mimicked voice. My eyes were so heavy I couldn't put up a fight. He turned, dreadlocks flying around with him and he slowly marched to the door. I kept my eyes opened long enough to see him standing in my doorway, head tilted and fingers flexing. Then sleep took over as if my body was put under some sort of spell.

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**AN: **How could I not put an author's note at the end…it'd kill my trend. Anyway, I'm sure I've got most of you scratching your heads by now. Romance, or not? Haha…tis a mystery, isn't it? It was interesting, though, if I do say so myself. I enjoyed it. Poor Scar though…I felt I let him down and made him stupid. lol.

And one quick thing, that I just remembered when I read Solain Rhyo's review she gave me that I completely forgot to mention the thing about the tooth—I know we both used the same idea. Unfortunately I didn't read her fic until after I put the tooth thing in during my original copy—but after that I'm like damn it, and tried my best to modify it so it wasn't the same. Forgive me—I really didn't steal the idea :( Interesting though how we both came up with that. My original pick was a nail because Scar DID pick up a finger, as we all know. But would YOU want a nail hanging around your neck? lol. With that said…

Onto chapter 4!


	4. 4

**Author's Note:** Thought I'd chime in here real quick to tell you that this chapter was originally just a small epilogue on paper—but when I was typing it all up BOOM look what happened. I like this much better than my original ending. Enjoy.

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**4.**

I was awakened from my dreamless sleep to the sound of a ringing noise. My eyes popped open and I immediately sat up. I looked around my empty room. It was the phone.

I reached over and picked up the handset from my bedside table. "Hello?" I said lazily.

"Morning, sweetheart," Steven said on the other end. "Sleep well?"

I rubbed on of my eyes and replied to him with a yes.

"Great," he said. "I'm guessing you just woke up and haven't had breakfast yet."

"No…"

"I'm willing to treat you," he told me happily. "Either I take you out or you stay in your pj's and I make you something."

I smiled. "You come here."

The conversation ended with him telling me he'd be here in twenty minutes. I sighed as I hauled myself out of bed. I realized, then, that I had never taken my robe off from the night before, but I paid it little attention. It might as well stay on now.

After I got to my feet and did my morning stretches, I headed out to the living room to watch TV while waiting for Steven to come over. Sophie was sitting on the top of the couch's back, the remote laying on the cushion and the TV showing some movie I didn't recognize. At first I was wondering how the heck it turned on, or better yet how Sophie managed to press that one button down.

Then it dawned on me. "Scar…"

I looked around, expecting to see him standing there. But I was alone. I looked around the living room and kitchen trying to find the Polaroid picture I suddenly remembered snapping, but it wasn't to be found. There was a half-eaten slice of pizza on the counter and a small piece of Styrofoam and plastic lying on the floor amongst a bunch of dried animal blood and water.

When I went into the bedroom again, I searched the floor for the pendent. It wasn't there. A little depressed and convinced the predator's visit was all a dream, I returned to the living room and switched the station on the TV to the morning news.

I debated with myself why I kept thinking it was a dream when there was evidence he was here—the mess in the kitchen, the TV on because I had tried to entertain him while I took a shower, my robe still on because he put me to bed. Then again…why couldn't I find the pendent and picture? Why didn't he stick around? Why did he really come in the first place?

Why must I keep remembering him?

That was the greatest question of them all. And it was starting to get to me something terrible. I needed to put that whole pyramid incident behind me, but for one reason or another it was coming back to bite me in the rear. I didn't want to remember it anymore!

Maybe I'm losing my mind. That's it. I'm going insane. I just can't live with the knowledge that what happened there was real and I was the only damned person allowed to survive. God must hate me, otherwise he wouldn't let me live like this.

I felt tears starting to sting my eyes. I sat and stared at the news anchors on the screen blankly. I wasn't listening to a word they were saying. I didn't want to hear it. I wanted to go crawl in a whole. I wanted a new life. I needed a new life.

My brain's only explanation to last night was that I was very, very tired and whatever I did around the house jumped into my dreams and reformed into thinking that alien predator was here. It was foolish of me to think he had come back. Actually, it was more like impossible. I saw him die—he was freaking coughing up that neon green blood of his and his head sagged to the snow when death took him. No one could survive what happened to him. No one….

I'm happy Steven had called me and came over. Once he arrived, my mind was focused on him and his cooking. He was a really good cook. Add that with his humor, and I have a lot of great times with him. I love him. I really do love him. Maybe I don't want to change my life; I do have something worth living for. My love for him….

"Are you okay?"

I looked up from biting into a piece of my nicely crisp bacon. "Sure I am," I said while munching. "Why?"

"You're really quiet. That and last night," he said honestly. "It's not like you to push me away like that. You seemed really scared."

I shook my head and washed down the bacon with some orange juice. "I wasn't scared. I was just so tired that I think I was losing my mind or something. I think I'm going to take some time off."

"Again? Lex, you took three months off when you came back for Antarctica. I mean, I know you deserved it after that explosion and stuff, but don't you think you should go on and forget about it? I can see its still bothering you."

"I'm okay; really I am." I sighed. I knew he could see right through me. He was good at that. It's like he could read my mind or something. "You wouldn't believe me even if I told you."

"Try me," he said with a grin.

I shook my head again. "I can't, Steven. You seriously would never believe me and I don't want you to think I'm some crackpot."

Steven reached over and rested his hand on mine. His brown eyes gazed at me softly and I couldn't help but get lost in them. "Lex…I love you. I know something happened out there that's frightened you to keep it locked up forever. You're secret is safe with me; you know that."

I nodded. I told him the basics. I couldn't bring myself to tell him everything. But now he knew that it wasn't just an explosion—it was a struggle to stay alive and a race to get out. I told him how I had to shoot Sebastian. I told him about the slimy aliens. I even mentioned parts of the time I ran alongside Scar. What I didn't tell him…was that I thought I met him again last night.

I figured he thought me totally screwy. Aliens don't exist—not at least in that sense. Most people see Marvin the Martian as your typical alien, or the ones with big heads and weird eyes. Maybe even Chewbacca, but that's pushing it.

"I believe you," he said.

"No you don't," I said back. "Who would?"

"Your story makes sense," he told me. "That thing you brought home…" he pointed to the weapon on my wall. "And that mark on your face. It's hard to believe that you got cut so perfectly without any other scrapes surrounding it."

I could see it in his eyes; he did believe me. And I was thankful for that. But I made him swear to me that he'd never tell anyone. I knew he wouldn't. Steven's just one of those kinds of guys that would do anything for you, even if it meant jumping off a bridge to save your life even though it'd be stupid and a waste of effort.

We decided to head out for a drive and go to wherever the roads took us. He wanted to get me out of the house for a while and just spend time together. I needed that, really.

I went to my room to change into jeans and a fall sweater. Being the neat freak I am, I started pulling up the sheets and comforter to make my bed. As I did, my hand ran over something hard under the covers. I reached under blindly and wrapped my fingers around something smooth. Pulling it out and holding it up in the morning light shining through my blinds, I gazed upon the blue pendent and the chipped remnant lodged inside.

I fingered it slowly, wondering about the previous evening. I had practically convinced myself it was all a dream, that Scar was dead, and that my nightmares were just getting more creative.

I heard Steven cleaning up in the kitchen and decided to just put everything behind me. Scar's presence was in fact real. The truth dangled in my hands.

"Lex? You ready?"

Steven stood in my doorway, waiting. I gave a smile and nodded my head. "All set." I grabbed my purse and left my bed half made as I joined Steven's side. Once I was in the car I tied the metallic string around my neck and hid the pendent under my sweater. The day was beautiful—not a cloud in the sky. The air was fresh and swept over my face as we drove down the street with the windows opened, the city of Boston lying before us.

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**AN: **I hope I didn't disappoint all of you wonderful reviewers that were expecting more from this fic. I do have a sequel possibility in mind, although I'd need to elaborate on it tremendously. I think a few of you wanted a Scar vs. Steven thing to go on here, but at the moment this was more Lex's problem than anyone else's—and not in the sense that she had a predator in her house. It was more emotionally.

But once again, thank ALL OF YOU soooooo much for your reviews and praises :) Trust me, it really made me find the extra time to post the chapters. I couldn't leave y'all hanging for weeks that can sometimes happen. Feel free to "email" me any suggestions for a sequel—it sometimes sparks things in my mind and I get at it faster and a lot easier. I'd prefer not to see suggestions in reviews because it can jump into someone else's head and might ruin the prospects of my stories.

Love to all:)


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